The warm sunlight filtered gently through the windows of the Butterfly Mansion, casting quiet golden beams over the tatami floors. Tanjiro sat quietly, bandages still wrapped around his torso, watching the soft flutter of a butterfly near the window. The calmness of the moment was rare—too rare.
From behind him, a voice floated in, gentle and sweet as always.
"You're healing well, Tanjiro-kun," said Shinobu Kocho, the Insect Hashira, carrying a tray of medicine with her usual calm demeanor and the ever-present smile stitched to her lips.
Tanjiro turned and bowed his head. "Thanks to you, Kocho-san."
But something felt off—her smile. It never changed. Not even slightly. It was the same warm, composed, practiced expression. And beneath that smile… he sensed pain.
"...Kocho-san," Tanjiro said, hesitant. "Do you ever… really smile?"
Her hands paused for just a moment as she placed the medicine down.
"...What makes you ask that?" she asked, tilting her head with the same cheery tone.
"I… I don't mean to intrude. But your smile, it feels like it's… hiding something." He looked down. "I'm sorry if that's rude."
Shinobu didn't speak right away. Then slowly, she turned her gaze to the sky outside the window. The light touched her violet eyes.
"My sister," she said softly. "Kanae. She was always smiling… always kind. Even to demons. But she was killed. By a demon. And she died with a smile on her face."
Tanjiro's eyes widened, his heart tightening.
"I couldn't forgive that. But I couldn't carry her smile either." Her voice trembled beneath the surface. "So I wear this smile… hoping one day I might feel it for real again."
For a long moment, Tanjiro said nothing. He only nodded quietly, a deep respect forming in his heart.
Later that evening, as the mansion dimmed under the setting sun, Tanjiro walked the outer hallways to clear his thoughts. He paused when he saw a boy passing through the garden—a boy with short, jagged hair and a scar on his face.
His eyes widened in recognition.
He was there… during the Final Selection.
"Genya…" Tanjiro whispered.
He ducked behind a pillar, unintentionally eavesdropping. From the next courtyard, harsh voices clashed.
Sanemi Shinazugawa, the Wind Hashira, stood with his arms crossed, his glare colder than ice.
"You don't belong here," Sanemi snapped. "You're weak. You failed the basics of the Corps."
Genya growled back, fists clenched. "I'm doing my best! Stop acting like I'm nothing!"
"You're not my brother anymore."
The words hit like a blade. Tanjiro's breath caught.
Genya looked as if he'd been struck. "You don't mean that…"
"I do," Sanemi said coldly. "You're a stain on the name Shinazugawa."
Genya stood frozen, trembling with rage and pain—but said nothing. He turned sharply and stormed off into the shadows, shoulders hunched and eyes burning.
Sanemi stayed a moment longer before sighing silently and walking away the opposite direction.
Tanjiro remained hidden, his heart heavy.
La much pain. So many wounds deeper than the flesh.
And still, they fought on.